“An invitation?” She’d been so long in this one place that her excitement over this grew quickly.
“Wenda lives on the edge of the village and she thought that with the aid of Corwyn’s crutch, you might want to try to walk there and share the evening meal with her and Weorthy.”
“Is that her husband? I have not met him yet.”
“Well, he is not exactly her husband.” She must have shown the puzzlement she was feeling on her face for he continued. “They do not share the bonds of marriage, but do share bed and board. Is that a reason for you to not share their meal?”
There were many reasons why those in the lower classes did not marry. Isabel blinked, wondering from where that thought had come? Did she object? Everything was so new to her, she thought not.
“I would share a meal with them. If she was good enough to save my life, I certainly could not refuse her invitation, could I?”
“I would hope not. She is a good woman.”
“You will come with me?”
“I would not allow you to go this first time without an escort.” He looked around the cottage and then at her. “If you are rested enough after your adventure to the stream, we could leave now and not have to rush.”
“Do I need to bring anything with me?” Since nothing here belonged to her, she did not know what she could offer, but Isabel knew that hospitality should be returned.
“Nay. Only your determination.”
“That I always have.” She laughed as she stood and gained her balance. “At least as long as you are with me.”
Before she could say any other foolish words, she put the crutch under her arm and supported her weaker leg as she walked out the door and waited for Royce to show her the way.
“How many here know of me?”
’Twas a question that had bothered her throughout their meal and conversation with Wenda and Weorthy. Some plans, organized by Lady Margaret had been put in place and would result in Isabel’s arrival at the keep on the morrow as a woman sent by Lady Margaret’s sister at the convent. No explanation would be given other than that, since none was expected.
Her past, or rather lack of one, was being kept secret from the people here. As Isabel thought about it, it was the best hiding place—out in the open. Those under Orrick’s control would see a woman sponsored by his wife. Those who may visit would see only another woman in the group that served the lady.
The one aspect that bothered her was what would be thought of her since no explanation was forthcoming. She would not be presented as noble, since they knew not if she was. She would not be presented as serf, since they were certain she was not. This vagueness would give the impression of illegitimacy, as many bastards of nobles were raised in gentle surroundings with comforts and servants to see to their needs. Even good marriages could come for them.
This round-and-round was giving her an ache in her head. Pressing her fingers onto her forehead, she sought to soothe the pain. Closing her eyes, she tried to let go of it.
She and Royce had arrived back at the croft after a wonderful but challenging visit to Wenda. Although feeling stronger with each passing day, the distance between the two cottages was more than she had attempted over an entire day. Her leg would throb through the night, but the journey and the testing had been worth it. The food and company had been exceptional.
Royce had still not answered her question. She opened her eyes to look at him. “How many?”
“Very few. Orrick and Margaret. Wenda and Weorthy. Avryl, her mother, John and Corwyn. Your presence here was not an open discussion.”
She was tired. She was being called on to play a role when she already felt as though as she was playing one. It took so much concentration to get through a day and deal with only one or two people, how could she manage in the keep and in the village?
“Do not worry on this, Isabel. Lady Margaret’s plan is simple and will be easy to follow. She will expose you to various tasks and duties to see if you remember any of them. Just follow her lead if you are unsure.”
“And if someone asks me a question?”
“Follow your own inclination in answering it. Isabel, this will work. It is best for you.”
“The villagers? The serfs? The servants?”
“Have no place to question anything the lord and lady do. They answer only to God, his bishops and the king.” He approached and lifted her chin with his fingers. “No one will question this.”
She tried to smile but could not. Now that her emotions had broken through this afternoon, she found that there were many she’d held under check since her awakening. Even though they signified life and a returning vigor within her, it was difficult to stay calm and not react with fear or worry or anger. How many of these feelings were simply reactions to her situation and how many were part of her own person before this, she knew not. Isabel looked at Royce’s reassuring smile and decided not to battle against herself at this point.
“’Tis difficult, Royce.”
“I do understand how much so, Isabel. As I told you, you are on the lands of a good man. You could not have found yourself a more fortuitous place than this one. Lady Margaret assures me that your turning up here is part of a larger plan and I dare not disagree with her.”
Royce stepped back and picked up the large pitcher on the cupboard. “I will fill this for the morning. Why do you not get settled for the night?”
When he returned a few minutes later, she was already on her pallet and could feel sleep drawing her down. But this was her last night here and she did not want to sleep yet.
“Will you go to escort Lady Margaret back from Carlisle?”
He moved around the cottage, finishing tasks. “Nay. Lord Orrick sent Richard and his troop to bring her back. I have been given other duties for now.”
“Lady Margaret spends much time at the convent?”
“She travels there about six times each year. Richard or I usually see to her safety.”
“She is a pious lady, then? I hope not to insult her practices with my lack of them.”
“Not particularly pious, but of strong faith. Her sister is prioress of the convent she visits.”
“Lord Orrick is lenient to allow so many visits. Even if the purpose is prayer and contemplation, my father would allow only…” Her words trailed off and she tried to let them flow.
“How many visits was your mother permitted, Isabel?” She heard Royce’s voice come closer. “How many?”
“Two each year. She was permitted to go once during Lent and once on the anniversary of my eldest brother’s death.”
She struggled to sit up. “Royce, I have a brother.”
“Two from the way you said it. ‘Eldest’ usually implies a younger.” He seemed to back away from her now, taking a seat on his own pallet near the door and looking at her across the darkened cottage. “And a sister.”
“And parents,” she added. An overwhelming sense of loss filled her and threatened her control. “Why are they not seeking me? How can I not mean anything to them?”
His voice filled the darkness but still he moved no closer to her. Part of her ached for his arms to close around her and offer the protection and solace that he had many times before.
“I believe they would, if they knew or even suspected you to be alive. They have been fooled by someone they have no reason to disbelieve.”
“Thank you for that,” she whispered, truly grateful for his efforts.
“I wish I could offer you more, Isabel.”
There was more to his words than that simple declaration. He spoke so clearly of more than just words. His words gave her a glimpse into the part of him that longed for more than he had here. He wanted more than this solitary existence that she’d fallen into, but he would not grasp for it. What did he fear so much that living, existing, this way was preferable? She dared much but asked her question anyway.
“Have you no family, Royce?”
The space between them filled with
so much tension that she knew she had crossed a tenuous line. He would not speak, had never spoken freely, of his own past. Isabel slid down once more and listened to the sounds of night that surrounded the cottage, hoping that they would calm her enough to allow rest.
Her thoughts were filled with the new memories she’d discovered—a brother alive, a brother dead, a mother and father and a sister. She could see only her sister and then but as a child, running on the beach with her. Caught up in her own thoughts, his words surprised her.
“I had a sister.”
“Is she dead?” She held her breath, waiting for some explosion from him for treading too far into his life with her questions. The softness of his denial tore into her much more.
“No. She is not dead.”
Isabel sensed there was more, but it came not. Quiet once more ruled and Isabel found herself drifting to sleep.
But I am.
The crack into his control, into the emptiness, was growing deeper. Not content with making him feel things he’d not permitted in almost three years, now she forced words from him to confirm things he did not want known. To anyone.
Determined to ignore any more of her dangerous questions, he turned away and cursed himself in his thoughts. He had withstood any number of challenges in these past years. So many times, the reverend mother’s words made him want to return to Harbridge and to take his sister away from those who would demean her. So many times, the anger and the loneliness had crashed in on him and he thought to go back and challenge the prince, to clear his name and to return to Catherine all she had lost, all he had lost. So many times that he’d lost count of them.
’Twas a good thing that Isabel was leaving on the morrow. He needed time to rebuild the walls around himself so that he could continue on his chosen path. Wanting more, wanting someone he could not have, was too dangerous.
She was a hazard to be avoided. Her memories pointed to a plot to kill her, and to her own nobility. He could afford to be involved in neither the vengeance that her attack demanded nor the trappings of the life she left behind. Once her identity was revealed, actions would need to be taken and not by him. For exposure to anyone associated with or familiar with the Plantagenet courts could reveal his existence. Too many barons and earls and counts and knights knew him and would report his survival to John. The hedonistic, vengeful, distrustful, unstable scion of the royal house would not cease until an insult was answered and the insult William had dealt him would never go ignored.
How could he fight her incursions? How could he resist the lures of a woman in need and a woman who had no idea of the appeal she offered him? In another time, in another life, they would have been perfect for each other. Now there was no hope of more than this passing alliance. For, in the end, he knew she was a noblewoman and he was damned.
Turning onto his back, he listened to her breathing, even and deep. Content to know she slept, he planned out the next two days and considered how to strengthen his guard against her. Satisfied that she would soon be ensconced in Lady Margaret’s solar and out of his path, he startled at her scream. He sat up and watched her fighting something, someone, in her dreams. Her pleas grew stronger and more impassioned until he could not stop himself from going to her.
Gathering her in his arms, he lay down next to her and held her while the nightmare terrorized her. She turned to him and burrowed next to him, clutching at him. He held her, soothing her with soft words until she quieted.
This would be the last time he held her. She would leave and he would never have her this close again. He could let go later, but he decided to allow himself this passing pleasure for the night. Then he would go back to his dead life.
Alone.
Secure.
Empty.
Safe.
Chapter Ten
After ripping out the stitches she’d placed for the fourth time, Isabel knew her mood could find no peace in needle and thread. Royce had said he’d return by midday to bring her to meet Lady Margaret on the road from Thursby and that time had passed. And another hour and then another. She looked around for something else to do to fill her waiting.
The blankets of her pallet had already been shaken, aired out and now lay folded on the storage chest. Royce’s bowls and cups and jug were back on the shelf in the cupboard. All was in order and there was no sign that she had ever been here.
None.
She’d brought nothing here and took but the clothes on her back with her. This lack of a marking, this lack of presence, bothered her in some way. But, within knowledge of herself, what could she leave behind?
The sound of horses approaching drew her attention and Isabel made her way to the window. ’Twas Royce, riding one horse and leading another. She pulled the door open and walked out to greet him. A fretful feeling passed over her, her heart beating in anticipation and her hands sweating with nervousness. Wiping her palms on her skirts, she tried to put a smile on her face but could not.
The sight of him on the huge stallion took her breath away. He was born to it, she had no doubt. He guided the horse with his knees as he tugged a smaller horse along with them. He reached the clearing and dismounted in one smooth motion.
No matter how he denied it, he was a knight by training and probably more. It was in his bearing; it was in his ease with the horses; it was even in the arrogant smile he wore at times when he was in his element, as now. Yet, he said only he was in the service of Lord Orrick. A man in service could not afford this magnificent horse and its care.
He tied the horses’ reins to a tree and strode over to her. “Did you eat something bad?”
Puzzled, she shook her head.
“Does your leg pain you? Oh, wait…”
Before she could answer, he turned and walked back to the smaller horse. She watched as he loosened a leather satchel and a small wooden stick and brought them to her.
“This is why I am later than I said I would be. Wenda said the crutch was slowing you down and so Corwyn made this instead. Try it.” He held out the stick to her and she traded him the crutch she held under her arm for it. “Wenda said use it in your left hand so you have your right arm to balance with.”
Nodding at his instructions, she grasped it and leaned on it. ’Twas truly much easier to walk with than the crutch. And her leg did not pain her when she used it to support her weight.
“So, ’tis as Wenda said?” He watched her every move.
“Aye, Royce. Much easier.”
“Will you smile now?”
His soft words caught her unaware and she tried to smile.
“’Tis as I thought, you ate something bad.”
She laughed at his silly words and tried to banish the worry from her thoughts. “I admit to some small measure of fear at this moving.”
“Isabel, I would expect that. Try to look upon this as a good thing.” He tilted her chin up and looked at her closely. “Lady Margaret will be there to help you.”
When tears began to gather in her eyes, he turned his face to the sky. “Here now, we will miss her at the appointed place if we do not hurry a bit. She said that all you need is in this bag.”
She followed him back into the cottage and watched as he emptied the bag on the table. A longer shift, a dark brown gown, a leather belt, and some head coverings. Lifting the veil and inspecting it, she realized that her hair had been uncovered all this time. A woman’s hair should be covered at all times. What other rules had she conveniently forgotten or disregarded in her blissful ignorance here?
“Necessity dictated your garb, Isabel. Do not fear that you have shamed yourself in this.” He’d read her thoughts again.
“I should ready myself for the journey. Can you give me a few minutes?”
“Certainement.” He nodded and pulled the door closed.
She exchanged her old gown and shift for the new ones and felt different once she wore them. The material was far superior to the gown she’d worn. This new one was not a servant’s dress. The belt
fit around her waist twice and she draped the second loop down lower near her hips. Then she reached up to fix her hair.
With a familiarity of years of doing so, she braided her hair tightly, twisted it and tucked the end inside so that it stayed wound around in a bun. Isabel took the barbette and wrapped it around her chin and fastened it on the top of her head. Then the veil went into place and she felt somehow at ease.
Covered.
Proper.
Protected.
Folding the gown and shift she’d worn, she left them on the table. Isabel walked the few steps over to the door and pulled it open. Taking a deep breath, she crossed into the clearing and waited for Royce to see her. It was a moment or two at most before he turned to look her way.
Had there ever been a moment when he had doubted her noble birth and place within society? Now, faced with a properly garbed lady, he knew what he had known from the moment she first spoke to him upon awakening—she did not belong here in this peasant cottage. Any more than he did.
William walked to her side and extended his arm to her. “Let me help you onto your mount—”
He stopped the words “my lady” just before they escaped. He felt her unease from where she placed her hand on his arm to the way she held herself away from him, careful not to touch anywhere but their arms. Reaching the horse, he did not ask, but only lifted her over it so that no undue weight was put on her leg. She sat as one practiced at riding and arranged her skirts.
“Isabel?” He wondered if her memory had returned as well as her manners.
“Aye.”
She looked down at him and he saw the same fear and sadness, the same Isabel, just dressed in something different. He decided that any reference to her clothes would embarrass her so he simply handed her the reins of her mount and climbed onto his.
“The ride will not be long or strenuous. You must tell me if your leg pains you.”
He watched her face as she gathered the reins into her grasp and then threaded them between and over her fingers. As he’d suspected, putting her into situations that she might have been exposed to in her life brought her past to light. Oh, she might not consciously remember it yet, but it was there for all to see. She nodded and he led the way to the path that would take them toward the road to Thursby.
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